The Masquerade
by R. Winter
Summary: Not your typical dance. When Hogwart's decides to celebrate Halloween with a Masquerade, Harry may finally see Ginny in a different light. What better way is there to have fun, angst, and romance? Who can recognize who? HG RHr
1. The Masquerade

**Summary:** This story takes place in sometime during HBP and poses an alternative way Harry and Ginny's union could have taken place. It is multi-chaptered and will come in installments. It is mainly character driven and doesn't involve the wizard war or the plot of HBP except vaguely. There are some references, however, from the 6th book. _The Masquerade _is just a simple fic about Harry's gradual perception change of Ginny and a great ball that will cause angst, hilarity, and intrigue.

**Disclaimer: ** I have no idea how to write disclaimers so I'm just going to say everything is owned by J.K., and I don't mess with her. Also, the chapter names are song lyrics so I didn't creatively come up with those either. Yes, this basically says I'm devoid of originality. It's hard, but I've found ways to cope.

The Masquerade

"Abigail Fairweather?"

"Ron, please keep it down, I don't want the whole of Hogwarts to know . . it was just kind of something I was thinking?" Harry added a little timidly, backpedaling a bit after introducing the fact that he might fancy a Hufflepuff he'd met . . or he had seen in the spare time he'd been spending in the library. He tried to catch her eye as often as he could but the most meaningful glances he'd received hadn't been from Abby, but from the murderous Madam Pince.

"Who the bloody hell is that?" Ron said, once again unconsciously featuring a masterful display of assorted foods about his mouth. He looked up only briefly to pose the question before digging back into the mountain of bacon he had laid on his plate. "I didn't know we even knew any Hufflepuffs. A right mute bunch, they are."

"Well, I've seen her in the library and we kind of . . well you know, we talk sometimes. She's quite nice, and I really . . haven't been interested in anyone since Cho." So, that wasn't entirely true. Abby had dusty blonde hair and had given him a kind smile once or twice. But Harry _really_ did plan to say something soon. Something quite intelligent of course. _'So, Abby. I was just reading Hogwarts, a History…'_

"Well, good luck, mate. Wish I could find a nice, non-mad sort of girl," he said directing a significant expression towards the approaching Hermione, who walked cheerfully towards a seat next to Ron at the Gryffindor table.

Hermione plopped down and smiled pleasantly at the both of them.

"Find an astonishing fact about Ancient Runes today? Did it put a spring in your step, Hermione?"

"Well! Actually, I did! I was looking in the library in the Runes section and—"

"Yes, right. So Harry, what does our great captain have in store for us today at practice?" Hermione loosed a withering look at Ron before pulling out the book she might've continued to tell them about. She immersed herself in it, probably as a boycott.

"Hufflepuff hasn't got a chance this Saturday have they, Harry?" Ginny added sitting down at the table, moving Ron's second plate out of the way to make way for her's. She smiled brightly at him. He gave a slight smile back.

He paused to consider his answer. He still wasn't used to being team captain. He'd never thought he'd be organizing practices and possibly making crucial team decisions. He did enjoy hearing Ginny's opinion, though, and her comment made him feel better about Hufflepuff as he didn't know how sure their win would be. He had also really appreciated her companionship this summer and was more and more impressed by her Quidditch abilities. Truthfully, he was somewhat surprised that she had opted to sit with them today as she usually sat with her own year a little farther down the table. He felt vaguely lucky for the rare privilege.

"Yeah, 'course. As long as Ron can keep his head," he said looking at his best friend with reassurance, trying to practice the look before having to repeatedly reproduce it several times before the match to the rest of the team. Try as he might, though, it probably made him look cross-eyed.

"Well, all you'd have to do is put another Lavender Brown in the stadiums to shout and wave her 'I love Won-Won' poster," said Ginny with a smirk. "Then he'd catch every quaffle." Hermione had a small conniption and nearly knocked over her goblet with her book. She mumbled something like 'oh, really interesting bit there, yeah' but looked visibly more angry than before.

Ron turned a fragile shade of burgundy. "Yeah, well, you could probably fill the stadium with all your ex-boyfriends. Little snog here, little snog there?"

Ginny and Hermione (who, after all, had not been as immersed in her book as Harry suspected) started yelling things at him like 'not the point' and 'sodding moron,' but unfortunately the interruption of Dumbledore's loud throat-clearing to make an announcement robbed Harry of the pleasure of an enticing three-way row. Ron looked torn between relief and anger.

"It is nice to see all of you enjoying your morning's breakfast. Hagrid has kindly informed me that the bacon is absolutely delectable this morning after finishing his second plate. So, please, do not hesitate to get more."

This stilled Hermione and Ginny's mutinous glares, transforming them into somewhat shocked stares as they looked at Ron's two empty plates. Ron looked pleased. Hermione seemed as if she might make a mention of pig's rights before Dumbledore continued.

"As that important news is out of the way, I would like to forewarn all of you that Halloween is indeed fast approaching and that your Professors and I have elected against the normal festivities."

The Great Hall buzzed with speculation.

"Given the dark circumstances of this year, we have chosen to organize a grand masquerade ball. It has never hurt to make an attempt to lighten the mood," with this he smiled gently, his eyes sparkling. "Though I can offer some description now, it would be better to consult your professors for more information regarding the ball. Dissimilar to the Yule Ball, the entire school is permitted to attend for Halloween is for all to enjoy" there a brief spurt of clapping the younger years. "You may or may not wish to be disguised, but certain magical precautions will be taken to ensure that those persons who wish to be will not be unmasked," Dumbledore said, watching all the whispers pass between students. "It is always a joy to test the waters with new things at Hogwarts," Dumbledore seemed to finish. Filch hobbled over to him before the Great Hall could dissolve into discordant excitement and pulled his sleeve saying something into his year.

"Ah, yes. Mr. Filch has reminded me that if anyone trifle with this fortunate celebration, through magical pranks or disturbance, that he will do all in his power to bring them a worldly amount of pain," with that Dumbledore sat back down with an amiable air of cheer.

Harry turned to his comrades with a laugh and noted Hermione's sour disposition. "You know what this means, right?" She said abhorrently.

"Yeah, a wicked time! I wonder what kind of bands Dumbledore will arrange to play. The costumes are going to be brilliant," said Ron excitedly looking at Harry.

"Yeah, and all the chaos that ensues from a bunch of silly girls trying to catch the eye of completely **oblivious** boys," it seemed like she was making a poignant expression at Ron. "Oh, it's going to be absolute madness," she slid her book off the table and into her bag in a huff, clearly resigned from talking about the subject of the ball. Harry thought she might just be acting a bit bitter since the last dance hadn't been spectacularly enjoyable for her. "I mean, the girls are practically going to be hanging over Harry. I'll be **amazed** if he can even get down a hallway without 18 different invitations." Ginny looked a bit cross.

As she got up, Ron jumped up a little too quickly, disturbing all of the silverware on the table. "Hey, Hermione, who do you think you'll be going with? I mean, not like . . it really matters, I mean . . do you know yet?"

"Oh bother, Ron! I've got to go to class!" She tried to slip away but Ron followed her undeterred. Harry could hear him plaguing her with questions as she made all kinds of excuses about how he was going to make her late all the way out of the Hall. He smiled. Sometimes his best friends were very laughable, and he already knew who would drag Hermione to the Masquerade against her will. He looked back down at his plate and decided food seemed trivial when it came to who he might ask. This could be his opportunity to ask Abby Fairweather. He looked up at Ginny's face, her soft red hair falling evenly onto her shoulders. He didn't think she looked too enthusiastic.

"Hey," he said with a light smile, trying to make her feel better. He'd never realized that her smile often reassured him, possibly more than he'd ever reassured her. "You get to go this time 'round and invite anyone you want. And, from what I've seen, I don't think you'll have any problem getting a date," he added a little sheepishly.

Her eyes flashed at him with a sudden sparked anger, and he realized that may have been the complete wrong thing to say after Ron's comments. She opened her mouth to snap something terrible at him but he desperately tried to beat her to it, "No-no-no, that's not what I meant. I just mean . . well," she started looking livid. "No, I just mean who wouldn't want to go with you? Any date would be lucky to have you."

That seemed to abate her, though she still looked somewhat skeptical, probably because he'd never said anything concerning her as a prospect to take to a dance. What he said was sincere but he wasn't sure if he had meant to include himself. He admitted to himself that he had never even thought about Ginny in that way, but he had no doubts that she wouldn't be snatched up quickly.

"Well, I don't care **what** Ron says," she spat his name fiercely. "I don't just play around around with every bloke in Hogwarts." She was looking away from him, fuming at a point in the air Harry couldn't find. As he continued to look at her, her face slowly changed from dangerously scary to a little lethargically tired. "Well, I guess there's no point in bothering over what my sad, older brother wastes his time thinking."

Harry smiled at her. It evidently had an affect because her alluring eyes and face made the full transformation, and she looked content again. He realized he'd carried on a bit longer with the staring than he meant to as it changed again into an inquisitive look. "Oh, yes. No point at all."

As he got up, she moved her plate aside and picked up her things for class. They walked on opposite sides of the table. Scenarios in which he might take Ginny to the dance played uninvited in his head. He stole furtive looks at her. When she started looking back, they'd reached the end of the table and he felt that he should say something after all his gawking..

"I don't know about you, but I'm kind of glad there's a change. This place has been pretty dreary lately what with the bad weather," it had been raining for ages, "and the . . war. I think everyone could use a good laugh."

"Yes, I agree. It will certainly be a laugh to see how people will try to disguise themselves. It's too bad you can't disguise being a prat," she said quite loudly as they passed Malfoy. He looked at her dully before returning his attentions back to whatever hair treatment Pansy was delighting him with. "Too bad Fred and George couldn't make it. Their dancing was just mad."

"Oh . . ." he never knew he actually used that expression. "I should probably practice dancing again."

Ginny looked amused at this. "No, you certainly don't want to break any toes. Patil will no doubt take every caution against getting you as a partner again." Something else flickered across her face as she looked at him, but he couldn't decipher it before she turned away. He thought she might've looked a little pink. Had she paid that close attention to him at the Yule Ball?

"Well, here's my stop, Potter. Your escort was quite enjoyable," she stuck out her hand, in a joking type why, keeping her face very serious. He laughed and shook it before trying to produce an equally serious gaze.

"Yes, well . . Weasley it's a job I take great care to perform. Now there will be no lateness on my clock. Get to class," he said dropping his voice, hoping it to sound very grave and mature.

"I'll see you at practice," she giggled and lingered a little longer before disappearing into Charms.

Harry forgot about moving to go to his own classes until someone brushed past him. "Looks like the bare-foot Stooge-plodder has got you in a trance," Luna said dreamily.


	2. Strange Attraction

"As the infantry of Batlegged the Horrible was decimated—"

Harry lay slouched on his arm, his eyes following Professor Binns impassively while the dismal ghost drifted across the blackboard. Hermione seemed to be scribbling furiously, but Harry could not possibly understand what Binns was saying that was so important. In fact, the harder he tried to concentrate, the quicker his conscious slipped away from him. Images flickered across his mind, slowly blocking out the comatose-inducing words that drifted back to him.

Harry gazed at the slick wooden handle of his Firebolt as he shot through the air, smiling faintly. Then he materialized most inconveniently in front of Snape, who looked down his large nose at him with his characteristic disappointment.

"Tsk, tsk. No marks again, Potter."

As Harry's face contorted with anger, Snape promptly turned on his heel, swiftly pacing to the front of the room. He watched Harry from behind his looming desk like a predator. Harry huffed, standing up.

"Clear off," Snape sneered with utmost distaste and loathing.

Harry stalked out of the room, noting the strange lack of expression on the other students faces. He didn't even think Hermione looked up. He bristled down the hallway and nearly fell when Ginny popped out from a door to his left. She only smiled and put her hand out. It took him a moment to forget his bubbling anger, but his lips finally curled in a reciprocated smile as he took it. Instead of shaking it though, she curled her fingers into his.

Then she poked him quite hard in the side.

"Harry." He looked at her bewildered.

"HARRY!" Hermione hissed savagely at him.

So shocked at being roused from his dream so suddenly, he made a sort of uncoordinated half leap in distress and fell completely out of his chair, dragging half of his belongings with him. The result was a loud, crashing sound near the back of the room, causing the entire class (excluding the others who still remained asleep) to turn and stare at him as he scrambled madly off the floor. The room broke out in suppressed laughter. Professor Binns continued on as if nothing had happened while Hermione flushed with embarrassment.

"What did you go and do that for? He was just enjoying a good History of Magic nap," Ron whispered scathingly. "He needs all the sleep he can get for Quidditch."

"I didn't know he was going to react like that! He needs to be paying attention! Professor Binns is going over an extremely important treaty made bet—"

"Harry hasn't got a clue what Binn's even talking about! Did you think he was going to wake up and start madly taking notes?"

"Just because you don't know how to use a quill other than to write some silly love poe—"

"Hey! That is not a love . . whatever. Poetry is total . . RUBBISH." He turned away from her, pocketing whatever he had been doing.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Hermione said to him apologetically and went back to her own notes that Ron would surely copy later despite all his arguing.

It took Harry a few minutes to fully grasp what had happened. It had all seemed so real, not that Harry was that surprised he'd nodded off during History of Magic. It certainly wasn't the first time. However, he didn't want to think about why Ginny was in his dreams because he found it rather disconcerting. Pushing it out of his mind, he was almost asleep again by the time the bell rang. Ron bolted from the room with alarming dexterity, while Hermione simply looked harassed.

Harry waited for her and asked, "Do you know how we're supposed to get costumes yet? Are we buying them?" He wasn't really looking forward to brooding over a thousand different costume pieces. He would most depressingly be drawn into trying to match every little article he considered and, like a girl, it would take him hours to decide.

"No, and it's a good thing, too. I don't think any of us have the galleons for that trip to paradise, and Dumbledore doesn't want students leaving the castle. I overheard McGonagall explaining to some fifth years that there's going to be special entrance boxes erected in front of the great hall. I think only one person goes in at a time, and it allows them into the Ball. Supposedly, you're to imagine what you want to wear and look like, and the box creates it for you. That way no one can know what's only been in your head, and the galleons don't matter," she paused for a moment. "It all sounds quite mysterious to me, but I have no doubt that Dumbledore will make the experience unforgettable," she looked thoughtful, perhaps reconsidering whether or not she would go.

"That's pretty impressive magic," Harry said. Hermione nodded in agreement. "But if you can only go in one at a time, how will the dates work?"

Hermione looked a little smug at this. "From what I gather, Dumbledore doesn't want people to go with dates, assuming they will know each other's identity and ruin the fun of a Masquerade. A lot of first years looked crushed by this. I think one of them was your ardent admirer, Romilda Vane."

Harry gave an involuntary shudder at going to the dance with _her_. Suddenly the prospect of being totally unrecognizable to anyone glittered in his mind like a polished, copper knut. He could just imagine his scar away. The possibilities were endless.

"Yes, well. I'm kind of glad I don't have to ask anyone or turn anyone down now," he added relieved. Hermione seemed to share the same opinion. Then Harry remembered that now he'd have no way to ask Abby. It would probably be impossible to find her, unless she wanted to be seen. Thinking harder about it, though, he didn't even know why he liked her. He knew next to nothing about her. She had pretty blonde hair, he knew that, he argued with himself.

xxx

After changing into his Quidditch robes, Harry was only dimly surprised to see that the sheets of rain that had been battering the Quidditch field for weeks had not let up. He stood with his team just inside their locker room, peering out at the tumultuous, intimidating weather. Hermione had followed him to watch but with one look at the weather, she squirmed away saying something about 'postponed paper, dreadfully late.'

"Well . . we do really need the practice," Ginny said next to him without much fervor.

"Yeah . ." he replied equally as noncommittal while he charmed his glasses not to fog. He didn't think the team would be able to hear him in the rain so he thought it better to just give them instructions now. He desperately searched for an Oliver Wood type speech. "Ok, lot . ." he fought to find the words. Bugger, next time he needs to pre-write this. "I've got about as much luck of seeing the snitch in those clouds as we have for bright and sunny weather on Saturday, so there's no point in not practicing in what we pr'olly will have to play in. The only thing we should do today is just practice normal play, as that should be hard enough with the rain, wind, and cold as it is," as if on cue, Ginny and Katie burst into a fit of chills and chattering and, even though the other male players looked unphased, their faces told another story.

"Right, so. I want the chasers to give it their best against Ron at the keep and our beaters to swing bludgers at them intermittently. Keep your eyes open and try not to do anything flash." With that Harry tromped out onto the pitch only to be immediately assailed with what he thought must be torrential, hurricane winds. The cold cut through his layers with ease and it's wasn't long before he was wet and shivering. He motioned for everyone to get into the air. He was going to have to cut practice short, no matter how much they needed it. For his own practice, he let the snitch out. Unaffected by the weather it whizzed unmercifully into the sky disappearing too quickly for him to follow.

Gliding over the team, he watched Ron look absolutely miserable, missing every other shot not because they were difficult but because the wind seemed to be buffeting him about like a newspaper. Peakes and Coote swung wildly just trying to hit the bludgers, though they seemed to strike their marks more often than not due to their homicidal natures. Harry started to move to help Ginny when he was sure a bludger careening maniacally at her left would cream her, but she whisked away from it just in time to score again on Ron. As he watched her longer, fearing for her safety and beginning to suspect this wasn't all that safe for anyone, he barely moved out of the path of a bludger to the head. It instead hit him in his right shoulder, and the pain was searing. His broom went tail over tail until he nearly collided into the stands, rain biting at his face and hair viciously. Ginny looked over her shoulder as Katie darted, masterfully trying to shoot the quaffle through one of Ron's rings, and swooped towards him.

"Ok, Harry?" He could hardly hear her concerned cry over the storm. She flew down close to him and he tried to sign language to her that practice was over. After an absurd amount of confused staring, she eventually got the idea and sailed off.

Everyone looked pretty tormented as they all hurried across the field to the locker room by the time Harry had called an end to the practice. His robes were soaked through in mud, grass, and black flecks of what he thought might be bludger. Ginny romped on beside him looking stormy and somewhat wild. He couldn't even find Ron, who he speculated had already vacated the Quidditch field entirely. The other players hurtled through and made to apparently just brave the weather all the way back to school. Harry, however, sat down on one of the benches and attempted to gain some warmth back into his body. He was shivering so hard he couldn't control the crazed chattering of his teeth. Ginny passed in front of him looking through the other exit and prepped herself for approaching battle, but when she looked back at him, she seemed torn.

"Well, I guess it could pass," she said standing a little awkwardly before logically taking the seat beside him. "It's m-m-murder out there."

"Y-y-yeah, n-n-no joke." He forced the words out of his mouth. Ginny looked perplexed and then contemplative.

"Oh! I can't believe I forgot! I learned a spell earlier to fight the chills. It's supposed to work when traveling but I don't know if I've quite mastered it," she looked hopeful. She shuffled through her robes, before producing her wand and pointing it at him even though her own teeth chattered harder. 'A-Ardensentis,' she said softly.

At first it felt like nothing had happened, but slowly warmth licked through him like wildfire until he felt his face turn a little pink and his teeth stopped. Ginny tried to perform it on herself but her hands were shaking too hard and she couldn't swish as well as she'd done the first time.

"A-Ardensentis! Ardensentis!"

"Here, let me try," he put his hand on her's to stop her mad swishing and retrieved his own wand. Her hands were ice cold. He repeated the word and the motion as he had first seen her perform, and the same effect gradually took place. He could feel the heat burn back through her fingers and he smiled satisfied. She just looked at him until he began to suspect something was awry. He cursed to himself when he realized he was still holding her wand hand and let it go instantly.

"Oh, sorry," he mumbled looking out the door again. A few uncomfortable seconds passed before he heard what might've been a giggle.

In an effort to fill the silence, Ginny, who had taken the time to compose herself asked, "How's your arm?" Harry looked down and realized he'd been unconsciously rubbing it. He was positive a massive, purple bruise was forming at this moment, and he knew that he'd had to see Madam Pomphrey later.

"S'nothing, been hit with bludgers loads of times . . dozens," he said hoping to sound tough. Ginny just giggled.

Against his will, he smiled. "What're you laughing at?"

"Oh, I don't know. You look like you just crawled out of a marsh," she said laughing and picking a giant piece of mud out of his hair.

"You're no better! Your face is practically cracking every time you smile!" He peeled off a layer of mud from her cheek and showed it to her. Small rocks and other earthly matters were lodged in. "You know, you're supposed to stay in the air above the field, not roll around in it." They broke up with laughter.

"Yes, no doubt we are a sad pair," replied Ginny.

After it was evident that they would only gawk at each other, Harry decided he'd stand up. "I'll walk you back," he said a little ungainly, nearly tripping on his broom.

"What were you going to do? Send me off and come back later? Of course you will," she said with a smirk, making him feel like an embarrassed first year.

They made artless bounds across the lawn until they were safely sheparded by the castle. They immediately made for the Gryffindor Tower, evaded only briefly by the Fat Lady who would only laugh at their appearance for several minutes until permitting them inside.

"Fat Bat," Ginny said and they both smiled as they entered the room tracking their muddy footprints over the other Quidditch players' who'd already come.

Hermione looked up from a mountain of books and Harry couldn't help hear Ron's voice in his mind, _'Light reading! She's mad!_' Hermione surveyed the pair of them suspiciously, making Harry nervous. Ginny only looked at her pleasantly and trudged up the girls' dormitory stairs, making interesting squishing sounds as she went.

"Ron got back ages ago," she said acutely and then as a side thought, "You look a bit peaky," she giggled. "Ron looked worse. Didn't say two words when he came in, er, two words that made sense at least."

"Yeah, I can only hope it's nothing like this on Saturday?"

"Did you have," she said, pausing to deliver a conspicuous look at the girl's dormitory stairs, "fun?"

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, trying to conceive her meaning. Then his eyes lit with understanding, "Oh. OH. No! No—we were just waiting to see if the storm would pass. It's," he fumbled for a word, "murder out there," he ended flatly. Hermione did not seem satisfied, but she didn't press the issue. He changed upstairs and later came back down to join Ron in writing a sad, 14-inch description and uses of the Oak Fistulina for Herbology. Ginny reappeared shortly after him and gave him an earnest smile before sitting down and animatedly talking with her friends, all of which didn't fail Hermione's notice.

Hermione caught the first few of the clandestine glances he stole at Ginny, and he only refrained when she began to openly look at him. Oops.


	3. Play Crack the Sky

**Disclaimer: **I don't own JK's things (wish I did), blah blah, but are any of you really reading this? I know you're not! YOU'RE JUST TRYING TO SCAN FOR THE SNOGGING! Well, I've buried it cleverly in the text, so good luck.

Play Crack The Sky

Madam Pince glowered at Harry when he walked through the great oak double doors of the Library, causing him to stop and cautiously ponder what he might've done. However, her mood brightened considerably when she saw that no one accompanied him (no one he could talk to) and cast a favorable nod, that is until she saw a first year making a shrewd attempt to pull a page out.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING, BOY? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW OLD THAT IS? BOOKS AREN'T MEANT FOR KINDLING FIRES, I'M WARNING—" Harry could hear her barraging the mortified looking Ravenclaw until he managed to lose himself in the tall, inescapable stacks. He concluded that if anything could block her shrill, nagging voice out, it would be these gigantic stacks. For a moment, he understood their massive appeal to Hermione. Any one of these books could hold the secret to finally killing Voldemort if he only took to time to forage through them all. But his brief great regard for the library didn't last long because soon he came to feel extremely claustrophobic and sought to immediately make his way to a table he could sit at.

For a few panicked moments, he thought he'd never make it out until a sharp right yielded Abby Fairweather sitting at a long redwood table, alone too! He somehow had looped and found himself near the front of the library again. Was she always in here? Maybe it was fate. O-er, maybe not. She seemed to be writing something with the highest concentration, and it looked very familiar to what she had been composing the last time he observed her. He took a tiny step forward to see what it was. Looking over her shoulder (gorgeous blond hair), he distinguished a few drawings. There, small, determined stick figures on brooms made remarkable loops and maneuvers hurling a red ball. She was drawing new Quidditch moves! He instantly felt ashamed for not doing his homework on the other team when he realized that she was probably their new chaser. She apparently took the position very seriously, too.

She seemed to hesitate, looking up from her loopy handwriting and amusing cartoons, as if something had momentarily distracted her. Harry jumped and promptly turned to inspect a row of thick volumes with absolute fascination. He heard her chair squeak as she turned around to look at him, and when there was a pause, Harry wondered if she was trying to make up her mind whether or not to talk to him. If she did, she'd have double the amount of guts than him.

When he looked over his shoulder, she was looking at him delightfully. "Hi, Harry Potter, right?" she said timidly and made to conceal what she was doing. Harry didn't know if she didn't trust him or if she was just embarrassed. After a few prolonged moments, he nodded profusely. "Yeah, figured," he looked at her questioningly. "Oh, from the scar. And, well, Quidditch." She smiled again.

Shaking himself out of it, he replied. "Yes, well, you're the new chaser, right?" She nodded, and he smiled somewhat relieved, glad that he hadn't messed up that information. "Are you nervous about Saturday? S'only a day away."

She inclined her head in affirmation. "Well, yeah. But only because of you. And Ginny Weasley maybe."

He noticed she was watching him closely, but couldn't decipher why. Puzzled he asked, "Why Ginny?"

"It could have a little something to do with her trying to crash into Zacharias during Gryffindor's last match," she admitted gingerly.

"Do you mind if I sit down?" She positively beamed so he took the seat next to her with great apprehension. So far, he'd managed to string his words together into satisfactory sentences and hadn't knocked anything over yet, but who knew how long it would last. Being close to the exit always meant he could make a quick escape. He shook his head in agreement, "Yeah, she's fiery," was all he could think to add. "I don't think she'll try to hurt you though."

"Time will tell, it seems," she smiled at him and as he was about to inquire about her drawings, he caught two distinct voices coming into the library.

"Ron, keep your voice down! Madam Pince is going to—"

"Do you know what you're wearing though? I don't think I'm going to like to go to a ball and not know who anyone is."

"But that's the point of a MAS-QUER-ADE,"

"Hermione Granger, you should know better!" Hermione jumped as Madam Pince warned, having imperceptibly manifested out of the thin air next to her. She endeavored to open her mouth in apology, but the librarian simply huffed and moved onto easier victims. She looked at Ron severely.

"This is totally off-topic. We came to get Inane Definitions by—" she stopped, noticing Harry, and he knew it was all over. She bridged the gap swiftly to the table he was sitting at, smiling and looking at Abby with great intrigue. Ron took a single look at Abby, and after it appeared as if his brain had fallen out of his head.

"Hello, Harry, and—oh don't look like that, we were just leaving. And hello, my name is Hermione Granger," she looked at Abby quizzically.

"Abigail Fairweather, and I believe I've seen you around school. It's nice to meet you," Hermione looked pleased.

"Yes, you too, but sadly me and—" she stopped hoping Ron might interject his name here but the only thing he seemed to be interested in were his shoe laces. Hermione rolled her eyes, "Ronald were just looking for a book. And oh, there it is!" She said pointing at an object in the very indiscernible distance. "We'll see you later!" She grabbed Ron by the arm and made towards said destination.

"Are they friends of yours?" Abby said.

"Yeah," he said, briefly wondering if he should elaborate after that embarrassing display. He decided she would be better off knowing sooner than later. "They're my best friends."

"The red-haired one—Ron? Seemed confused."

"Books can do that to him," Harry smiled.

Abby smiled, too, before her demeanor began to change. Harry looked at her curiously. "I suppose I shouldn't show you this, but I've just been dying to show someone who knows even an ounce about Quidditch. Half the girls in my dorm wouldn't expect brooms were used for anything but sweeping." She pushed the books aside that she'd been using to cover what Harry had already seen and slid them over to him, looking at him nervously.

Now that he was close enough to actually grasp the tiny details and read the writing, Harry was impressed, "These are brilliant," he said in awe. Abby suddenly looked relieved. He pushed them back over to her. "But you don't want me looking at them do you? I could be a spy, you know."

At this moment the bell rang and she gathered her things up, he stood as well. "I doubt that. Well, it was nice meeting you, Harry Potter." With that she glided away before Harry managed a squeaky, "Bye!"

xxx

Saturday morning both Ron and Harry looked nauseated. Harry's stomach was so tight with butterflies than he didn't think he was getting enough oxygen to his brain, which seemed like a plausible theory when it became obvious that he wasn't going to talk using the right words. It was strange because Harry was hardly ever nervous before a match. He knew in the back of his mind that it had a more to do with Abigail Fairweather than he'd like.

Hermione sat down with a sensible share of food on her plate, unlike Ron who had accumulated enough food for a small family of four and had barely touched it.

"I don't have to ask _you_, Ron, but what's wrong with you, Harry?"

"Oh, 'dunno. Just the . . match, I guess," Harry mumbled picking limply at his eggs.

"Why would you be nervous about the mat—Oh!" Her face lit up. "That's right! That girl! Ron told me she was their new chaser. That is, after he'd regained his basic motor functions. She's very pretty, when did you meet her?"

This wasn't making Harry feel any better. "Not that . . long now, er, long ago."

Ron slowly drew out of his own world of anxiety to pay attention to their conversation. Once he realized who they were talking about, he perked up instantly. "Pretty? She was gorgeous! I didn't know Hufflepuff ever had anyone worthy of a second glance," he exclaimed.

"What about Cedric Diggory?" Ginny added walking over to the three. Harry felt disappointed because it didn't look like she was going to sit down. "Who are we talking about?"

Harry suddenly would rather talk about any other subject in front of Ginny, but Ron looked eager to share this newfound information with everyone.

"Abigail Fairweather? You call her Abby, Harry? Harry fancies her, Ginny."

"Oh?" Ginny smiled unconvincingly. "That's the new chaser, right? From what I've seen she's not that good on a broom," she paused. "She'll be no match for me," Had he been COMPLETELY in the dark about this new chaser? And while Ginny maintained a calm expression, Harry seemed to recognize something akin to anger.

"Are you sitting down?" Harry asked after she lingered there for a few more minutes.

"No," she said quickly. "I just came over to point out that the storm looks to have broken," she pointed to the great windows at the end of the hall. "I can't remember the last time I saw sunlight." She had hardly finished her sentence before flitting back to her year's part of the table. Harry thought that was odd, and Hermione watched her analytically. Ron had reverted back to being tremendously pale.

"Oh, won-won, don't worry, I've made a poster for you," Hermione said rubbing his arm. Though normally he would've gone completely stiff and mute, but he didn't seem to notice it in the least with impending Quidditch doom.

xxx

They all gathered around Harry in the locker room as he desperately tried to think over the roar of fans that rumbled all around them. Ginny held an expression of unrelenting determination. Harry thought, _again_, that this was odd since she'd remarked about how little a threat Hufflepuff was earlier. Ron looked marginally better than at breakfast because Hermione had given him another good luck kiss. Harry would need to thank her later.

"Peakes and Coote, watch for Hufflepuff's beaters. I've watched them play before and they go after the opposing side's beaters first and then the chasers. Use it against them. Ron, remember to stay centered at the hoops. Ginny, Demelza, and Katie . . you're all fast, smart, and experienced, which is a lot more than Hufflepuff can say about their chasers. If we just play to our abilities, this match is already won."

Harry led them onto the field, and thought to warn Ginny about the move he'd seen Abby designing. "Ginny," she made no response and looked to be mounting her broom. "Ginny!" She took off. Annoyed at her deaf ear to him, he went and shook Smith's hand with heavy dislike and shot speedily into the air. He circled the field three times before Madam Hooch blew the whistle.

"W-w-welcome to yet another Q-q-quidditch match," a very nervous, small first year boy barely peaked over the podium to look out over the Quidditch pitch. Were they just recruiting anyone to commentate? "Oh, look! There's Harry Potter! Circling the field for good luck, probably, not that he needs it, the only way Zacharias Smith could hold a quaffle is with a Sticking Cha—"

"Frederick!" McGonagall snapped at him from behind

"S-s-sorry, professor," the boy yelped. "Katie Bell has now got the quaffle, and the two other Gryffindor chasers are sweeping into some kind of brilliant attack formation while Cadwallader and Smith scramble into an airy-fairy type defense, don't think that's going to work. Bell passes off to Weasley, Weasley throws the Quaffle right past Fairweather's ear, and she scores the first point of the game for Gryffindor!"

The crowd erupted with applause and Harry stopped searching the skies to watch the match. Ginny really was excellent on a broom, and she had been right about Abby. While, in theory, her moves were perfect, her execution was a little lacking.

"Ginny Weasley plows through Fairweather taking the Quaffle! More efficient than a bludger, she is. I do hope Abby is alright, though, she's quite pretty, gorgeous blonde hair, and the sweetest disposit—"

"20-0, Gryffindor!" McGonagall shouted into the microphone.

"Ouch, Coote takes a nasty bludger to the arm," the Hufflepuff stands went into riotous cheers, "Looks like he'll be batting with his right arm from now on."

Harry plummeted through the sky in a feigned rush for the snitch to get a closer look at the game. Ginny was, quite simply, railing on Abby. He thought he caught a victorious glint in her eye as she swept from under Abby and robed her of the Quaffle again ("Ginny Weasley puts Fairweather to shame again!" "Weasley reams Abby for her fifth consecutive steal!") The match continued, Smith scoring twice on Ron, who had actually been playing extremely well, deflecting Abby's two shots. Demelza and Katie fought for two goals each while Ginny made three more. Something had definitely gotten into her.

"90-20, Gryffindor but it's still a toss-up match. Hufflepuff seeker Gregory Thompson might still catch the snitch, though it's not likely against Harry Potter who hardly has any losses to his name, marvelous seeke—" and that's when Harry saw the snitch amiably dancing by a pair of flowers at the bottom of the Slytherin stands. Harry darted after it, adrenaline pumping through him, putting all of his reflexes into overdrive. He descended like a hawk from the sky, gaining ground as he got closer.

"And there Potter goes for the snitch, fast as lightning he is, Thompson hasn't got a chance, but wait! Thompson has circled and is coming for the snitch from the opposite direction!"

Harry looked up, the wind whipping at his eyes, and saw that the announcer was right. Thompson rushed from the other side and Harry, in a thought of horror, knew that the Hufflepuff was going to get there first.

"Thompson may just have beaten Harry Potter, but, NO, there's Weasley!"

Moments before collision, Ginny had plunged down into Thompson, who spiraled off of his broom, skidding through the wet dirt. Harry's last clear image was Ginny's deep, brown eyes, the snitch still floating serenely beside her as his outstretched hand closed around it. The momentum was too great, forcing him to close his eyes as the pain of impact wracked through him. He could only hazard a guess at what was happening when the piercing, loud crack of wood and ripping cloth tore through his consciousness.

When he opened his eyes again, dust particles floated around the illuminated hole in the foundation of the stands through which he and Ginny had just smashed through. Spread out across the rubble on his back, he still held the golden snitch tightly, but slowly came to recognize that his other arm was wrapped around something soft and breathing. And it was on top of him. Ginny's chestnut red hair flooded over his robes and he relieved the tight grasp he'd been exerting around her waist just as she started to stir. He must've grabbed her as they impacted and spun so that he took the brunt of the damage going through the wood. It certainly felt like he had. However, he didn't move at all, entranced by Ginny's petite form, her head swaying slowly to come upright. She gave his stomach twice the amount of butterflies than Abby had ever given him. She pulled her hand across his chest, weakly lifting herself up, as her face finally emerged. Her amber eyes locked with his instantly, and it wasn't until now that Harry realized how close they were, his hand still trailing along the small of her back. He could smell a faint, flowery scent and see the perfect outline of every freckle. He could feel her short breaths against his cheek.

Using his wrist so as to not let go of the snitch, he pushed himself into a sitting position as she still looked at him, moving only slightly to accommodate him, her face, her lips still hovering just out of touch. Then the spell was broken. She looked utterly terrified, scrambling backward toward the hole. It was good timing, too, as about a dozen people were racing up to the crash scene, shouting and making noise. When Harry was finally pulled from the debris by Ron and Peakes, he held the snitch high for uproarious applause.

"We've won, Harry!"

Demelza and Katie were helping Ginny who seemed shaken but uninjured. Harry looked at her but she was conveniently avoiding his eye and making quick approach to the locker room. People were already deserting the stands in great numbers and the Hufflepuff team lumbered towards their own locker room morosely. His team pushed him across the field and ultimately up to the common room where there would be a boisterous celebration.


	4. Dancing Through Sunday

**Notification: **This had originally been with Chapter 3, but I split them up so as to not create an ungodly long chapter. Listen to Dishwalla – Until I Wake Up while reading this chapter.

**To ATA: ** How attractive are those synonyms? Though chortle has its meritable amounts of humor, I don't think Harry would ever describe Ginny's laughing as snickering, cackling, guffawing, or snorting. So, sadly, that only leaves laughing and giggling. And one can only use those so many times before getting bored. WOE! And I am proud, thank you.

Dancing Through Sunday

Harry's confusion was happily diverted as soon as his teammates and nearly the entire house of Gryffindor accompanied him back to the common room. With their loud shouts and rapports of triumph, it was hard to think about anything too important as he let himself be drawn into the wonderful party atmosphere. Despite the distraction, he did look through the mass of students crowding around, talking and laughing spiritedly, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ginny. Even though he managed to at last locate her in the corner of the room talking cozily to Dean Thomas (he felt himself become exceedingly vexed), he was never able to muscle through the people or able to avoid being drawn into conversation with Hermione and Ron long enough to get to her unnoticed.

After a few hours of fun, during which a wild 3rd year spilled butterbeer all over Hermione, the party started to die out, many of the younger years returning to their separate dorms. This caused the flock of students to thin out and make it quiet enough for Harry to finally reach and talk to Ginny. She was lounged comfortably in one of the giant arm chairs, her eyes following the jumping flames of the fire. He sat next to her, unseating an angry Crookshanks to do so, bringing a glass of butterbeer to his lips and watching her slyly over the top of it. At first she wasn't roused by his presence, but after awhile she sleepily turned her head towards him and smiled.

"Saved you today, Potter," she said lightly smirking and pulling herself into a straighter position. The panic and consternation that had plagued her countenance earlier had wholly vanished.

"Yeah, and what a thanks I gave you, crashing into you like that," he said trying to disguise how much it really meant to him that she'd sacrificed herself to let him catch the snitch. For an instant, the way she'd looked at him flashed before his eyes making it hard to think again.

"I do what I have to do, cap'n," she said plainly. He wondered if maybe she'd only been acting under the influence of a minor concussion when she'd laid that close to him, looking at him . . in whatever way she had. Maybe it didn't even matter.

"And more! You practically annihilated Abby Fairweather."

She laughed. "Yes, there are certainly enjoyable benefits of Quidditch. I'm sure you feel the same every time you catch the snitch right under Malfoy's nose."

"Oh, yeah, that feels wonderful," he agreed happily.

"I suppose the next thing we have to look forward to is the Ball. I'm so excited."

"Do you have any idea what you're going to wear yet?"

She looked at him suspiciously. "Trying to get me to tell you so you can point me out to everyone, are you? I'm wise to your tricks, Harry, you won't fool me," she said, but he could detect that she was joking.

Harry was getting so used to smiling and laughingwith her that he felt like never leaving her company if it meant not feeling the way he did around her. "No, no, not at all. You can keep your secrecy. I just have no earthly idea what I'm going to wear. But it looks like I'll be getting no help from you."

"That's right."

"Are you sad that we're not really allowed to bring dates?" Harry didn't know why he wanted to know, but the answer seemed extremely important. Ginny appeared to pick this up and looked at him amused.

"Not really, it's like what Hermione said. It takes a lot of stress away. Besides if you really wanted someone to know who you were, you could always take your mask off. Why? Sad that you can't ask Abby?" she added completely platonically. He didn't sense the resentment he thought he had seen before. It made him feel better for some reason that Ginny would be willing to listen about other girls. _She must really be over me._ Wait, did that really make him feel better?

"Yeah, I guess, not that it matters though. I probably would've just made a fool of myself dancing with her, anyways. Now, I'll at least have the anonymity to break the toes I want to."

The common room was nearly empty. Hermione prodded a snoring Ron with the end of her quill, giggling every time he made strange noises, some of them oddly connected words. After tiring of the entertainment, she sought to wake him up and walk him up the boys' stairs. Harry watched them with a grin, Hermione mumbling various dirty words as she tried to haul him up. After awhile, she reappeared looking disheveled.

"Well, I'll bid the two of you good night. There's a day of homework still that I've yet to tackle," she said sounding more happy about this than she should, and ascended her own stairs.

For a second, Harry had forgotten their conversation until Ginny spoke. "Well, it's never too late to learn," she had been looking into the fire, the hint of a smile tracing itself across her enticing lips, but now she turned to look at him with an impressive intensity.

"What do you mean?"

She stood up. "I can teach you how to knock Abby off her feet," she said smugly, "if that's what you want." He looked at her questioningly. "Mum forced me to practice dancing with Charlie and Bill over the summer so that I wouldn't embarrass them at the wedding this summer." She put her hand out to him, eerily like his dream.

He pushed himself onto his feet, engaging her russet eyes in unbroken eye contact, and slipped his hand into her's. His dream had never let him feel the smooth, creamy plane of her palm, the ridges curving upwards and downward, silky and soft. "I don't think you could embarrass anyone." He thought he saw her faintly blush. She dragged him to the middle of the common room.

"Ok, show me what you know. Oh, don't look so startled, surely you remember something from the Yule Ball, even though, as I recall, Parvati lead you quite forcefully across the dance floor," she said with a giggle.

"She did not!" He unassertively pulled her closer to himself, leaving a sizeable distance between them, and put his other arm around her waist, not gripping it too tightly. He realized that this would be the second time he'd gotten to hold her in one day. He started trying to lead with no perceivable idea as how to do so. She looked affronted.

"Abby's not going to think you like her very much if you insist on standing a yard away from her," she smiled and slid her arm up over his shoulder, stepping closer to him and making him very . . something. It wasn't nervous and it wasn't appalled. "You have to want to be intimate. You can't dance with someone you fancy like they're a loathsome little sister," she said interlacing her fingers into his.

"You're not—" he began passionately, but stopped after realizing that she hadn't been referring to herself. She watched him before visibly deciding to ignore the outburst.

Despite this, he felt like all the saliva had gone from his mouth. He felt stupid for having to be instructed like this. He thought he knew how to let girls know he liked them. He also felt like what Ginny was doing, her fingers between his, her arm around his neck, meant nothing to her, that it was just helping her brother's best friend with girl troubles. That was worse than anything he had felt yet.

"Much better," she said quietly, checking their stance. "Now you have to move, and count in your head, you probably remember that," he noticed she wasn't looking at him, in the eye at least. When he began to dance, moving in a circle their feet moving together, she looked at his shoulder, over his shoulder, down at her feet, over at the fireplace, but not at his eyes.

"How will _your_ dancing partner feel if you never look at them," he suggested, smiling.

"Yes, I suppose eye contact is good, too," she snapped back somewhat sarcastically, both surprised and amused at the challenge. Reluctantly, she unglued her eyes from a flowerpot and glanced at him. The glance was enough to secure the same unbroken eye contact they had shared before they had started dancing and like earlier, when they had fallen through the stands.

"Now . . don't . . be afraid to have—" she seemed to have trouble speaking.

"A little fun with it?" He smiled at her and spun her around, bringing her back closer than she had been before. Her breaths seemed to be coming shorter as he let his hand push down her back, before coming to rest again at around her waist.

"That good, too?"

"Very good," she murmured. They continued to dance around the room, Harry losing his grasp on the real world around him and becoming more captivated with her flaming red hair, her blushed cheeks, coffee eyes, and flawless pink lips. The lips were becoming most appealing. Their dance slowed to a stop, but they didn't break apart. She searched his eyes.

"I think you've got it," she said, but it was barely louder than a whisper. He continued to look at her as her fingers played absently with the hair on the back of his neck.

"Nothing else?"

"No," she said unconvincingly. She started to pull away but he held her waist firmly. He dropped his hand down to her shoulder and began to touch her cheek. She closed her eyes instinctively, and then opened them again.

"Nothing?" He asked. She hesitated as if she knew what he meant and began to move towards him, when they heard someone come flying down the girls' dormitory stairs. Ginny tore away from him and knocked into one of the study tables as the 2nd year stopped and stared blankly at them. Harry stared back with the dirtiest look he could muster. Looking terrified, the girl ran back up the stairs. By the time he turned back to look at Ginny, she was collecting her things, her expression completely confused and distracted.

"Well, that was great, Harry," she blew past him.

"Ginny, wait,"

"Abby will love the way you dance," she said with a twinge of . . jealousy? He'd never heard anything like it before to compare it to.

"You left your—" he held up the book but she was already gone. Flummoxed, he threw it down on the floor and went to bed, drawing all of the curtains closed. It was very late, already Sunday. It was awhile before he managed to get to sleep, but it didn't stop her from plaguing his dreams.


	5. Just a Touch

**Answering Review Questions:** The story is posted twice, the only different being the rating, because I wasn't sure which rating it was going to be when I first started it. Also, I knew that more people would be able to read it if it was in both sections, especially if they are like me and only search H/G stories in T (haha.) And, yes, I am sadly ignoring JK's plot because I would hate to have to amateur . . ly rewrite anything she has already written masterfully the first time. We don't want a simple H/G story to be too long! And as to Harry not worrying about Ron, I think this chapter is the first time he even realizes he likes Ginny and ponders the consequences. Before I was writing it like Harry was just any other boy, pretty oblivious to their feelings for anyone until they realize they're trying to snog them. I hope these are good enough explanations. If you disagree, please e-mail me. I wouldn't mind changing my story in the least if it means greater reader appreciation.

**Notification: **Sorry this chapter has taken awhile. I got my wisdom teeth out and then, because of Satan, I got dry socket so I've been a little bit too LOOPY to write. I haven't changed any of the other chapters, so don't fret. I did, however, realize that Harry would not be in the History of Magic class in his 6th year. Oh well.

The curtains billowed around Harry's bed languidly, a bluish tent softly penetrating the thin cloth and casting itself over his crumpled sheets. His consciousness barely registered that it was likely an early hour of the morning. He didn't want to be awake, and he **definitely** didn't want prepare himself to take on the day. Harry's lazy awareness acknowledged that it was probable that every time he saw Ron today he was no doubt going to feel an incisive pang of guilt. Why? He didn't even want to think about it. A logical part of his mind told him that not thinking about the subject was just going to prolong the inevitable, but Harry had become very accustomed to ignoring painful topics (i.e. his parents' and Sirius' death).

He brutally tossed himself in bed, disrupting the calming flow of his curtains. He couldn't ignore the dreams he knew to be the beginning of many. He couldn't ignore the way she had made him feel last night, the way his face flushed the closer they became, her intense gaze that never broke away from him. He could feel a resurge of warmth sizzling through him even when he scarcely dared to think about it. How long had it been this way? Harry remembered looking fondly at her petite frame since the beginning of summer, but he had never thought it had been anything but platonic. He hadn't been jealous when she was with Michael Corner or any other boy, even though their attentions had made him more aware of how agreeable she was. She walked like she wasn't afraid of anything or anyone, and she had always shown superior loyalty to him. After she had given him the Easter egg (fearlessly taking some of it for herself) and comforted him about Sirius, he felt like he could talk to her about anything. He would never have to worry about her crying all over the place if he upset her, his greatest concern would be for his own health because she'd surely find a way to put him in the infirmary. It was no mystery that she hadn't escaped the notice of Slughorn. Ginny was remarkable.

The more he thought about the merits of her personality, the more arresting the images of her physical blessings became in his mind. His imagination sluggishly stirred as he saw her elegant hands splitting his bed curtains, her gripping glance immobilizing him as she gracefully slid inside, the only evidence a fading ripple in the material. The desire to move, to touch her was overwhelming, but he didn't. What held him back? In the vivid vision, she smiled seductively at him and trailed her fingers faintly down his cheek and then sliding them still down his neck. Craving her, he grabbed her arm and she was on top of him—

"HARRY! GET UP!"

Surprised he shot up in his bed, staggering through the sheets, coming to a final crash on the floor, in a prison of his own blanket confusion. Frustrated and still . . excited, he barked half-sentences at Ron, _"Bloody sleeping – can't just – privacy of my own bed – dreaming, you know!" _ until he finally managed a sensible one.

"Wh-WHAT TIME IS IT?"

"That's why I woke you up, Harry. You're going to miss breakfast, you know," but it had just been early morning!

And, just as predicted, Harry felt the first stab of guilt. How disgusted Ron would be if he'd known what he had just interrupted. Harry could hardly believe his mind had conjured something so . . provocative. He felt even worse about how accurate it was, especially when it came to what he wanted. Escaping out of his sheets required a lot of concentration, however, that thankfully granted him a long reprieve from the awkward dream. Maybe if he could just keep himself busy all day, he'd never have the spare time to indulge any more fantasies.

"C'mon, mate, let's go," Ron beckoned to him from the doorway. The idea of attending breakfast, with her down the table, alarmed him.

"I'll be down later, got some stuff to, uh, take care of."

"Alright," Ron said apprehensively, looking at him with interest before leaving.

Harry sighed, relieved, and it wasn't until his unengaged mind started churning more daydreams that he had to rocket himself into something productive. Leaping down the stairs, he contented himself with ideas about his costume. While he was sitting alone in the library (he had eluded breakfast with Ron and Hermione and managed not to talk to either of them in Potions or DADA,) he heard a pair of giddy girls pass him.

"All you have to do is think about what you would like to see most, and then enter. I think it's supposed to turn into some kind of closet with clothes all in your size!"

As they passed out of hearing, Harry thought that these boxes sounded a lot like the Room of Requirement. What if he walked in without a single thought of what he wanted except a perfect costume? Would it materialize something ideal for him? Harry thought that sounded like a plan. He didn't want to get to drawn into the Ball when there were more important things like Voldemort and the Order. But, truthfully, his utmost priority lately had been avoiding Ginny. He didn't even know why. A part of him hoped that if he saw her, he'd realize that it was nothing except fanciful dreaming. He'd be happily relieved of the possibility that he really liked her and the consequences of what that might mean. He had a persistent fear that he did like her that overpowered that hope, forcing him to take every strange route to class he could conceive. And he didn't know if it was worse to think that she didn't like him in return.

The week passed similarly. The glimpses he caught of Ginny, the back of her red head in the hallway, her pretty face submerged in conversation with friends at lunch, her relative nonexistence in the common room, gave him the distinct impression that she was evading him, too. Despite himself, he really came to miss her company, especially at practice that Wednesday when she only looked at him indifferently to receive instructions, blissfully ignoring him though she carried on playful exchanges with the other players. This resolved him to go out of his way to try an incite some emotion, any emotion from her. The result was dismal. He could fly close to her, stare at her until the sun went down, and even hazard some constrained conversation, but her dim smiles and replies were always uninterested, distant. His spirits fell when she didn't wait behind in the locker room with him, like she usually did. He dragged his broom back to the common room, refusing to be employed in conversation with Ron, and resigned himself to homework until he went to bed early. He wished his failures had redirected the intensity of his dreams about her, but they only enlivened them, giving them more tantalizing detail than before.

Harry lay awake the next morning telling himself that he needed to force himself to get over it. He was just another hormonal boy who fancied every girl that gave him the slightest attention. Ginny would surely start talking to him again and everything could be back to normal. Lumbering down the stairs for yet another bleak day, he was hardly out of the portrait hole when someone caught him by the arm. Trying to contain his excitement, he turned slowly, but it was only a troubled-looking Hermione. He sighed, dispirited, and paid little attention to her as she walked with him down the stairs towards Potions.

"What's wrong, Harry?" He didn't think he wanted to tell anyone. "You can't think me and Ron haven't noticed. You've hardly said a word all week. Is it Sirius? Does your scar hurt?"

He wished it were something important like that. What had he been hoping to gain from ignoring Ginny when now all he wanted was a single smile, or even a sideways glance? Maybe he'd been making too much of it all and she was just acting normal. It could all be in his head. He didn't want to worry Hermione though.

"Oh, it's nothing like that . . just been in a mood, s'all."

"Well, that's understandable," Hermione seemed to sympathize. "You're not the only one, after all. Ginny's been acting strangely, too," the wheels seemed to be turning in her head, Harry noted nervously, but she graciously wasn't coming to the right conclusions. "Maybe it's the ball. I can hardly go around a corner without hearing something about it."

On cue as they neared their classroom, a girl shouted out, "I'm going to have unicorn wings! Purple ones!"

Hermione looked at Harry annoyed, and he laughed lightly. "Maybe you should try talking to her, she might be inclined to talk to _you_." He wasn't quite sure what that meant but he nodded lamely, anyways.

He opened up to Ron and Hermione over the next few days, and was feeling the Halloween spirit more strongly by the time the Masquerade had come. Ginny had even looked at him in the common room with subdued mirth, but mirth none the less. The atmosphere was one of extraordinary anticipation and the noise in the corridors never seemed to shift below shouting level, much to Filch's unceasing irritation.

"BE QUIET! YOU'RE NO BETTER THAN A PACK OF WILD DOGS!" He would yell leering at anyone who would make eye contact.

The dinner feast was spectacular. The staff had assembled all of the tables outside of the Great Hall, which made for a cramped, loud environment. People often pointed at the boxes and went back to chatting loudly with their friends. Ron looked absolutely overwhelmed and Hermione beamed at them all with rare jubilance. Harry even caught her accidentally laughing at a joke Ron made about her, but it was short-lived. Harry wondered idly if Hermione or Ron ever hid a secret like his. They squirmed anxiously under his incredulous gaze. He smiled. The calamity in the outside hallway was so great he thought he'd never hear Dumbledore tap his glass, but it shot through the air with piercing brilliance when he finally did. Everyone held their breath as he prepared to speak, standing elegantly in front of one of the five entrance boxes.

Instead, he coughed. "Oh, please excuse me." The students couldn't help but erupt in tense laughter.

"I know your spirits are high, but please, do not make any rash decisions while inside. We do not want to have to end the Ball because of any pranks or problems. Older years, please be model citizens," his eyes twinkled with a mysterious grace. "The staff and myself have managed many magical preparations for your sole enjoyment, so please display kindness when dealing with them. Also, the Robes may prove quite stubborn, so don't engage them or, if you must, be courteous," with this last confusing bit, Dumbledore flashed his wand. House crests formed atop the four entrance boxes, and students immediately understood that they were to enter through their own house box. Dumbledore and a few other professors vanished through the fifth.

"In an ORDERLY MANNER," bellowed McGonagall, immediately bringing harmony to the mad scuffling to get to the doors.

"But, professor, they're locked!" squealed a tiny Colin Creevey.

"Just say your name into them!"

Harry had been knocked aside and into a nearby table during the insane dash to get to the Gryffindor box and was only just recovering when he saw Ginny meandering towards him. He looked away darkly, surely she hadn't seen him yet. Two more seconds and she was bound for a sudden change of course. But by the time he looked back, she was practically on top of him (he blocked out a dozen images from prior dreams), and their close quarters couldn't be helped because of all the people moving about. He found it didn't bother him as much as he would've liked.

"Hey," she said. He waited.

"Hi," he said a little belated, he had thought she had planned to say more. She looked away. Was she trying to tell him something? He figured he'd make it easier.

"Hey, look, I'm sorry about the other day—"

"You are?"

"Yes," no, that wasn't right based on her expression. "Oh, well, no, but I will—er, if you want me to be, yes."

She seemed to relent. "I'm sorry we haven't spoken much."

"Well, no. I mean, I did everything but outright trip you to get you to talk to me," he said with a smile. It was contagious. She smiled for the first time in a week and he'd never been happier. "I was about to resort to desperate measures; jinx your books to fall out of your pack every time I saw you, send first years to give you notes."

She giggled and he hoped more than anything that she attributed the redness of his face to the warmth in the room. He felt the familiar tightness in his chest and couldn't help but imagine his dreams being realized.

"Hrm," she said looking down at her feet, compromised by her own red cheeks, "I wanted to tell you something. . ."

"Yes?"

She looked at him again, cue the palm sweating. "I wanted to tell you . ." but her eye caught something over his shoulder. He turned to see what she was staring at. Oh good Quidditch Quaffles, Abigail Fairweather looked to be pushing through the crowd towards him. He snapped his attention back at Ginny, but it was too late. She was walking backwards away from him towards the Gryffindor box, with the unreadable expression he'd become so familiar with.

"No, wait. What did you want to tell me?"

"Oh, it's nothing! Nothing that can't wait least," she said a little acidly. "Ginny Weasley!" DAMN THAT BOX. Ginny had squeezed between a pair of eager girls and into the box before he could touch her.

"Hi, Harry!" Abigail said brightly as she tapped him on the shoulder.

" 'llo," was about all he cared to respond with before pushing the girls who'd let Ginny go in so willingly out of the way, much to their murderous retorts. He'd almost forgot to think desperately that he only wanted the perfect costume. "Harry Potter!"

Throwing the door open, he plummeted into disorienting darkness. Slowly a small bulb burned yellow light into the room. It appeared as though he was in a small closet. Moths bobbed merrily about his head. It took him a moment before he noticed a few musty suits hanging on the doorknob of a closed door. They were all gray and moth-eaten, except for one, lurking just under the others. The costume was a deep black, as dark as any moonless night, and Harry slowly reached for it grasping the thick fabric. It was made of a material he couldn't completely identify, but it seemed smooth and rich. There were silver buttons on the vest extending from the neck to his waist and it was cut . . perfectly for him. It was similar to a troubadour's outfit, with the three pieces and a short cape, and Harry was positive he could lose himself in any shadow with it.

Harry picked up a spellbinding, emerald green mask from the floor and inspected it. It had a face shaped like a human's, but with bizarre, unfamiliar curves, and the light reflected off of its pearly, sheer surface surreally. It was mystifying. He brought the pants over his left and right legs, but noticed there was a large, circular hole in them. He looked over the top half again and noticed one in the suit tail as well. He put his finger through it curiously. _What could that be for?_ Furrowing his brows, he warily felt along his back and was shocked when his hand brushed over rough, fuzzy hair. Spinning around, he caught a glance of a long, golden tail that he recognized right away as a lion's tail. _BRILLIANT_, he thought to himself. He noticed that it seemed to have a mind of his own because he could not control it's flicking or swishing.

Hastily putting on his jacket and forcing the tail through the two holes, he felt almost ready. A pair of lime green gloves hung on a nail by the exit. Slipping them over his hands he examined himself in a foggy mirror. He was unrecognizable under the mask, it changed his hair color to a spiky, luminescent jade, but if he slid it off his hair and face were normal again. Satisfied, he turned the doorknob and burst onto a blinding stage, visually intoxicated in an array of bright, colored lights. When his eyes adjusted, blurring things back into focus, he stumbled down the steps off the stage and looked at the people who had already amassed in the Great Hall.

Dumbledore and McGonagall were spinning through the crowd like a pair of daft toy tops. Despite this distraction, Harry was lost in the beauty of the vibrantly colored dress robes. There were reds, whites, teals, purples, and every other color he could imagine. Some were beautifully embroidered with silky silvers and sparkling, molten golds, which wove into strange flowers, birds, clouds, and other things that seemed just barely out of recognition. Students sported boisterous feather tails, purple unicorn wings, masks in the shape of animals, trolls, gargoyles, house crests, and there were dozens of other strange accessories he could spot.

Harry strained through the dancing partners and flew up the stairs of a small balcony that had conjured itself on a part of the Great Hall's wall, and perched himself on a marble rail to get a better view. He could spot vampire fangs, wolf paws, horse hoofs, red, green, blue horns. He even spotted someone who had covered themselves in fur and someone else who had made their hair into grass. It was all so fantastic, but it was nothing compared to the decorations. The ceiling was the picture of a cold, autumn's night, a surreal moon and hundreds of stars tossing their soft, white light over the entire room. Candles were lit in amazing abundance causing shadows to flick in inhuman, eerie directions. Were those dancing robes on the stage he had come out of? Sure enough, four robes wearing house colors were dancing with one another, no one inside of them, and the Slytherin one looking quite displeased at having been matched with Gryffindor.

He watched dozens of different dancing partners making tiny circles while they waltzed, creating a giant, clock-wise circle for his viewing pleasure. They seemed lost in the dazed, entrancing music. Harry swayed, slightly disoriented by the hypnotizing songs that drifted off over the crowd and up to his hiding place. The instruments, pianos, flutes, drums, a string orchestra, and other magical instruments he'd never seen were playing themselves marvelously. He leapt down the stairs and off of the balcony; he wanted to dance. Large cauldrons of pink and chrome substance that he could only assume was the punch momentarily distracted him on his way, however.

He didn't have to wait long on the dance floor for a partner. He was swept into the madness before he'd even prepared himself to dance, and was therefore surprised when he found that he had little trouble. Since his partner was a small girl in a dazzling orange dress who seemed somewhat focused on her feet, Harry was able to look at the people he'd only seen from a distance. Radiant soundless fireworks burst above his head giving him some light by which to see their faces. Hardly anyone was talking, but everyone looked beautiful. It was difficult to focus on anyone for too long because they were all moving so quickly in circles, but as someone brushed his shoulder he turned to make them out.

Scintillating through the crowd, he was magnetized to a girl in a radiating, red dress. It was strapless and silky, and Harry couldn't think of anything he'd wanted more than to dance with her. He changed partners a dozen times to get closer to her, but she was always spinning just out of reach. He panicked when she laughed with a partner and curtsied, making to leave the dance floor. Practically dropping his partner in the process, he bounded in pursuit and slid in front of her, effectively blocking her.

"Dance with me. Please," he said. He didn't recognize his own voice. He offered her his lime-gloved hand.

She accepted after a small pause, placing her hand over his, and gliding towards the dance floor. She wore arm-length velvet, blood-red gloves, and he could feel their smooth texture from the inside of his own. Her crimson mask shined sleekly as he looked into her eyes, the same shade as her costume. The more they danced the closer they became, the flowers coiling into her hair grazing his face, glitter shimmering exquisitely on her cheeks. Their eyes were locked and as the music slowed, he felt as though he could feel nothing except the smooth curve of her waist, see nothing except the gentle, soft surface of her face, and smell nothing except a familiar flowery scent.

After numerous dances with her, he slowly moved and, with perfect grace, he led them away from the main congregation until they were alone under a balcony. They still danced. They looked at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Harry felt dazed as grazed his face against her's before dropping into the nape of her neck. He took in the scent of her skin and hair, letting his lips drift over her bare shoulder. It all felt like a dream. He had never been so hypnotized.

Her hand had dropped delicately onto his shoulder but as he started to kiss her neck, she gripped him roughly and passionately moved into him. He wrapped his hands around her tightly, pulling his gloves off, and moving his lips over her cheek until they struck their mark. As they kissed, his body had never felt so hot; her lips were on fire. It felt like ages as his hands grazed over her chin, lifting it up and pushing her mouth deeper into his, before he could think to stop. But when they finally did, they were both breathing wildly, and she seemed to collapse into him.

"Who are you?" she whispered into his ear, tempting him to resume his raptures.

He pulled his hands away and gradually began to lift his mask, when a sudden firework blazed over their heads. She looked up and he felt like all of this was very familiar. Did he know who she was?

"I have to go," she said and turned to flee.

"No," he grabbed her gloved arm, and dragged her back to him. He pulled the glove off leisurely, and brought her palm to his lips. They stood there, anchored, before she slipped away from him and off into the crowd. When she was gone, he felt colder and alone. The dance seemed to be coming to an end.


	6. Compromising Scent

**Note:** This is a revised version of the 6th Chapter I've had up for so long. I changed it so that I could write a better 7th. Sorry if this causes anyone problems! Thanks again for reading!

Bursting out of the Gryffindor exit box, Harry still felt flushed and his thoughts seemed muddled. There was a rush of people getting back to their common rooms, pushing out of exit boxes, standing around looking for friends, and others, like himself, who just seemed hypnotized. Snapping out of it, somewhat, Harry gazed across the hallways outside of the Ball and saw Dumbledore watching him peacefully. Dumbledore stood, as always, untouched in a sea of crazed students. Harry remembered his preposterous dancing from earlier and thought that maybe Dumbledore had used the dance for his own relaxation, too. Harry smiled at him before seeking his way through the castle, towards his own dorm room. He couldn't wait to tell Ron what had happened and fervently wondered what his best friend had been up to. Harry didn't think he had ever spotted a costume he could see Ron wearing and cursed himself for not asking about it beforehand. Harry had no idea how he was going to sleep tonight.

"Peach Cobbler," Harry said to the Fat Lady.

She looked irritated as she had been busy admiring her toenails. "Nope, sorry," she shot at him.

"What?"

"Dumbledore changed the password during the ball, and that's not it."

"That's rich, how am I supposed to get in?"

"Not my problem," she smiled odiously and went back to toe nail appreciation.

Harry huffed in anger and spun quickly, off to badger other Gryffindors for the password, when he slammed right into Ginny. He didn't think the collision alone was responsible for knocking all the breath out of him.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," he said grabbing her arm to stop her from tumbling backwards, awkwardly holding her there until she said she thought she was quite alright now.

"Hrm, sorry," her cheeks seemed just as red as her hair. He frantically tried to think of something to say as he moved back towards the Fat Lady, who was looking at him incredulously.

"Conjure the password out of the air, have you?"

Finally, he remembered why he had gone careening into Ginny in the first place. "Do you know the password?"

"Oh, yes," she brushed past him and he felt his heartbeat momentarily quicken. He stood behind her, as close as he thought he could be without touching her, as she said, "Barmy Pickles."

Looking mutinously at them, she swung open and allowed the pair to file inside.

"I went into the box right after you did, but I . . don't know . . well, I don't think I saw you. Did you have a good time? It was like a dream in there."

Ginny nodded looking distractedly at him before sitting on the edge of one of the large arm chairs before the fire. Harry sat on the chair's arm.

"Yeah, I—" but just then Ginny was interrupted by Hermione and Ron who came clamoring through the portrait hole in an utter rampage as usual.

"Barmy Pickles? How do you always figure out the password before I do?"

"Don't change the subject, Ron. I can't believe you tried to pull of my mask in front of all those people. What if I had wanted to remain anonymous? What if I HAD ACTUALLY WANTED TO FOLLOW THE RULES?"

"You? Wanting to follow the rules? Who'd believe that! Besides, if you hadn't wanted me to see it was you, I wouldn't have been able to take it off in the first place. Don't act like you didn't want to dance—"

"Hrm," Ginny made a half snort into her fist so as to get their attention. "I thought that maybe you two would like to go somewhere you could argue a little bit more privately . . . or maybe somewhere I wouldn't have to listen."

Hermione stared bitterly at Ron before stating to the common room that she was going to bed. It didn't sound like a bad idea to Harry.

"I think I'm off, too," he said to Ron. He looked at Ginny and tried to give her a warm smile. "Good night."

"'Night, Harry."

It was heartbreaking when he finally broke eye contact, but he lulled himself up the stairs and into bed anyway. He pulled his sheets gingerly up to his chin and lay there staring at the canopy of his bed, thinking about the girl in the red dress. It all seemed so familiar; the way they danced, the way she smelled, her eyes. He tried so hard to place it, but he fell asleep before he had any success. During the night he tossed with dreams of dancing with her, pulling her arms around him, of kissing her. When her mask fell away, he touched Ginny's face and then kissed her again.

Sunday morning his eyes snapped open, and he wanted to slap himself for all the dreams he was having. He wanted to slap himself really hard for how much he enjoyed them. He realized he'd overslept again when the sun hit him full in the face as he dragged himself out of bed. Sagging down the stairs, he happily met Ron at one of the common room tables. He and Hermione were sitting together so he assumed they had made up. He desperately wanted to know how to ball had gone for the two.

"Hey, 'morning."

"Finally. Dreams too good for you to wake up this morning?"

Harry stared at him. DID HE KNOW? But Ron just went back to trying to read Hermione's book over her shoulder.

"Heh, yeah . . anyway, what happened last night? What did you guys wear?"

"Oh, mate, it was brilliant! I had red, gold, and black hair, and yellow eyes. I looked like a right fiend! And my mask was this . . red color—"

"Ronald, it was black."

"Whatever, I don't remember. Anyway, my costume was Quidditch robes and they fit spectacularly. It was great! I kind of wondered around, a bit like having too much butter beer really, until I bumped into Hermione, I just knew it was her—"

"Oh, NO you didn't!"

"Yes, I did, you were yelling at someone for trying to touch the dancing robes, _'Didn't you hear Dumbledore! They'll likely take your head off!' _Who else would do that? She looked really-erm, . . . in her blue, and, uh—"

"And black dress. My eyes were blue and black, too. I thought it looked a bit dodgy but it's not like I could do anything about it after I got into the box. It made my hair all glittery, too."

"Wait, weren't you two dancing together? I think I remember you . ." he and the red-dressed girl had been dancing next to a couple like they had described.

They both looked at him guiltily, and he idly wondered why. It wasn't really a mystery to anyone in the country of England that Ron and Hermione had some sort of relationship going on, whether it was love, hate, or quite a bit of both. So, Harry placidly looked back at them, enjoying their anxiety under his scrutiny.

"Well, er, we were," Ron said.

"How long?" Oh, Harry was having too much fun.

"Oh, I don't know . ."

"Don't act stupid, Ron. We danced the whole time, but Harry, but what did you do? What was your costume?" Hermione said, eager to change the subject. Harry smiled and let her.

"Oh, I didn't even think of one beforehand. I just let the box choose for me, and it did a pretty good job. It made this black suit, which had a cape, silver buttons, and a hard neck collar. I had a mask like yours, Ron, but it was green. It was also really odd, because I had a lion's tail."

Harry didn't expect the outright stares that his two friends shot at him. Ron seemed to be thinking furiously, as if calculating complex astronomical computations in his head. Hermione had furrowed her eyebrows together in consternation before supressing her stare and looking away from him.

Ron looked as if he was going to say something, his mouth half open, when Hermione made a movement that might've been kicking him savagely under the table. "Oh, yes, that is very weird," she nodded a bit too animatedly. "Did you dance with anyone? Well, you must've been if you saw us on the dance floor."

Harry watched them warily. What was going on? It was difficult to ever tell with the pair, so he decided to continue.

"Yes," he answered slowly, still skeptical of them. "I danced with a few people but," he paused lost in the memory, "but only one stands out." He paused catching himself in what must have been one of the silliest grins of his life. "I danced with her the whole time, too."

Ron was looking torn while Hermione watched the Weasley fretfully. Finally, Ron came to liveliness when Ginny bounded down the stairs.

"Morning to all," she said chirpily and skipped towards them. "What's the talk of the town, today?"

"Oh, Harry was just telling us about the Ball—" Ron began hotly.

"And we were just leaving," Hermione grabbed Ron's arm and hoisted him (with great effort) across the room and out of the portrait hole. Ginny looked after them inquiringly.

"You know, just when I think I've got them figured out. . ." She smiled at him. _Beautiful, beautiful girl. _"Did you see them at the Masquerade? Danced like a pair of fools. I almost cried with laughter when Ron tried to take her mask off."

Harry was too busy watching the way her mouth moved to really pay attention to the sounds coming out.

"Harry? Hello? I hope your just honing your listening skills with that staring."

"Ah, haha . . . yes?" Did his mouth no longer consult his brain any more? Ginny looked at him and smiled uncertainly, but he couldn't help but notice an underlying slyness to it.

"A bite to eat, shall we?" Before he knew it he'd be absently writing Ginny Potter all over his notebooks.

xxxx

All of the students were filing out of Potions as Harry sat in his chair, miserable.

"Sorry, mate, can't always count on the prince can you?"

Hermione looked smug and wasn't even going to put on the pretense of feeling bad for him. During his mad rush to class, he had completely forgotten his Guide to All That Is Potions by the Prince, so had therefore made a complete mockery of the antidote potion. Though Slughorn had observed his potion with great displeasure, Ron happily commented that it was the result of 'girl problems,' causing the class to erupt in giggles and lighten their professor's mood. Try as Ron might, though, it didn't stop Slughorn from inquiring what class Harry had after Potions. Harry had regrettably informed him that he had a free period and without hesitation Slughorn dictated that he'd be working on the potion after class until it no longer smelled like rotting meat. '_I trust you, lad, to do as I say, for I cannot stay. I have much more pressing business.' _

"Well, maybe you'll be able to form some actual skill at potions now," Hermione smirked. _Oh, act victorious now, but I'll take the best marks away from you again, _Harry thought

"Yeah, maybe being alone in a dark dungeon with only memories of how Snape used to torture you here at every opportunity will enhance that skill," Ron added, before giving him a final goodbye and following Hermione out of the room. He watched Ron attempt to do this yawn type of move where his arm ended up on Hermione's shoulder.

"Ron . . what're you doing?"

"Just a bit of lint there," Ron said looking crestfallen as he dropped his arm back to his side.

Harry was just happy the two were acting somewhat normal. Ron had seemed distressed when he'd sat down beside him, giving him a long stares when he thought Harry wasn't looking. However, he'd gradually loosened up at the onset of Harry's antidote disaster.

Harry morosely cleaned out his cauldron and stared at the empty basin, pondering whether he should actually stay here. Hermione would be horrified if he even showed up half an hour later in the common room, and she should be, because it would take an uncountable amount of hours for him to even get a mediocre potion right. He sifted through the ingredients lethargically, picking them up half-heartedly only to drop them in the bowl again, before he finally resolved that he would just go do something else for an hour then report back to his friends.

He had nearly crammed everything into his bag when a sweet, familiar face pushed through the dungeon doors and looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"Harry, where is everyone else? Ron told me that the meet—" and then a dim realization spread over her face. Ginny looked momentarily annoyed before smiling playfully.

"What did he say?"

"Oh, nothing," she said, gliding down to him. "Remedial potions again, Potter?"

"Thick as a cauldron," he said pointing at his head. "But, really, what did Ron say?"

She rolled her eyes. "Told me there was a last-second Quidditch meeting. I should've known when he said it was in the Potions room with his ears turning bright red like that, that it was a dirty prank. I guess Ron finally learned something from Fred and George. That cad will make me late to class," she said, her eyes flicking to the wall clock. When she returned her gaze back to him, Harry felt a paralysis that was becoming all too routine in her presence. "But I don't mind. I like surprises," she smirked covertly at him and turned to leave again. She stopped and looked at him, "Well, are you coming?"

Harry nodded with a bit too much vigor and followed her out of the room.

It seemed to Harry that she was fully over the anger she had displayed before the ball. They'd had a relatively argument-less, awkward moment-less breakfast together which put Harry in a hopeful mood. However, he had expected to see Hermione and Ron at the long, wooden table, but they'd never showed. He couldn't possibly imagine what was going on with them this time. What had he said to cause it? Something about the ball? What could—?

The bell rang before they were halfway down the hall, disrupting his train of thought. Ginny emitted an agitated sigh. "There goes another wonderful class with Snape. Better now that I don't show up at all than show up late. I can't even imagine the points he'd dock from Gryffindor now. _Weasley, that's 10 points for having red hair and 150 points for daring to skive my class_."

Harry laughed. "Well, you're welcome to skive with me. If I show my face in the common room before another hour's done, Hermione will absolutely lose it. I'm supposed to be 'honing actual skill' at Potions right now." As they walked down the hall, their hands would brush one another sending shocks of heat through his arm.

"Oh, marks slipping in Potions? What potion did you devastate today?"

"I'd love to say it was something as exotic or as difficult as a love potion, but then I'd just be making myself feel better," he examined her for a second. "Would you ever use one? You know, if you could."

"I've watched those silly first years scramble for ingredients all term, it's absolutely pathetic."

Harry smiled. "You didn't answer my question."

They stopped at the end of the hall before a tremendous window that covered the whole wall. Bright rays of sunlight shot out across the grounds and through the glass, blanketing them both in blazing yellow hues. She turned slowly to look at him, a glimmer of interest crossing her face. He could hear her thoughts already. _Why do you want to know?_ He fidgeted with his bag about to crack under the weight of her scrutiny.

"Do you think I'd need to?" she replied with a mischievous smile, and did she just inch closer to him? Her sultry brown eyes traced the outline of his face before resting on them on his again. She was making it very difficult to form a sentence. But talking was about the last thing he wanted to do anyway. No, she definitely didn't need a love potion to get him to do anything she asked. Just as he was bowing his head unthinking towards hers, he saw the dangerous flick a furry tail over her shoulder.

"Oh, bollucks," he hissed. "We need to go."

"What?" she said, curiously turning to see and promptly cursing. Mrs. Norris looked at them with a victorious glint in her little red eyes.

He grabbed her hand, taking a moment to appreciate the softness he'd missed since they last danced, and allowed the adrenaline that made him so good at Quidditch to propel them down through the corridors. As he dragged Ginny along as they ran, a psychopathic howl echoed after them that could have only originated from Filch. Ginny would get in a lot of trouble if she was caught missing class without an excuse, and just as they rounded the corner Peeves' distorted face nearly gave him a heart attack.

"Potty, potty, whose potions smell rotty, in trouble again?"

"Hey, look what I've got for you Peeves," Harry dug madly in his bag for something, anything. YES, he'd had a bottle of honey to use for the antidote potion. He tossed it to him. "Remember how Filch tried to exorcise you from the Great Hall last week? He's down the hall right now."

With Ginny in tow, he bolted around Peeves, who looked more sinister than ever as he caught the bottle of honey. Harry's triumph was short-lived, however, because Peeves simply floated through the ceiling and disappeared. Harry cursed his honey loss, wondering only briefly what use Peeves would put it to instead of helping him. As he tore around a new corner pulling Ginny behind him, he desperately searched for a hiding place when—THERE! Harry crossed in front of Ginny so abruptly that he violently wrenched her to his right. He jerked her behind a giant pillar, his back against the wall facing her, with a little less gentlemanly grace than he'd hoped for.

The space behind the pillar lent hardly enough room for one person, much less two, but the sound of Filch's maddened steps approaching ever closer incited him to pull Ginny as close to him as possible, her arms wrapped midsection, her chin strained against his chest. They barely managed to disguise themselves in the camouflage of shadows when Filch rounded the corner, Mrs. Norris padding excitedly beside him, her nose to the air. Filch paused and looked down at the vile cat.

"Smell something, my precious?"

Harry felt instantly uncomfortable when Mrs. Norris' red eyes fastened on he and Ginny. Though they were still quite cloaked in darkness, he felt as if a hot, bright spotlight had just been placed on them. Filch looked at the spot Mrs. Norris began to pad slowly toward and smiled nastily. Harry instinctively held Ginny tighter and felt that she too had also gone completely still, her arms wrapping much harder around his torso. _It must be unbearable for her not be able to see what's happening_, he thought.

Just as he was sure they were caught, surely to be thrown in a most foul detention with Snape, a loud, angry hiss split the air. He looked up to see Peeves with a dripping bottle of honey suspended over Mrs. Norris, laughing maniacally.

"_BLOODY MENACE!"_ Filch screamed upwards just as Peeves began to shake the half-empty bottle madly, splattering both Filch and the surrounding tapestries with sticky honey. Harry could feel drops of honey splashing the back of Ginny's sweater while flecks spotted his own glasses.

"I'LL TEAR YOU TO PIECES!" Filch shouted at Peeves as he shot through the ceiling, no doubt in search of other victims to torment. Filch picked up his honey-soaked cat and ran screaming away from them. "DUMBLEDORE! DUMBLEDORE!"

As his screams eventually receded to a safe distance, Harry was finally able to exhale, though not for long unfortunately. Ginny shifted in his arms (he had to loosen his firm grip) to turn her head in the direction Filch had just so dramatically exited.

"Think he's coming back?" She said, and even though they seemed to be out of danger, his heart still beat riotously against his ribs.

"I don't know. Prob'ly not," the most comprehensible sentence Harry could manage at the moment.

His hands were still flattened against the small of her back when he realized he was touching the smooth, creamy skin his dreams often tantalized him with. He reasoned that he must've pulled her shirt up in the madness of their hiding. He felt instantly guilty for the trespass. As she turned back, she relaxed her grip around him and looked at him, no doubt noticing his strange expression. When she stirred in his arms, he took it as a cue to drop his arms casually around her waist. At least . . . what he hoped was casual. It was, after all, hard for him to relax any muscle in his body.

She smiled coolly (more and more he felt like she knew more than she should), but she otherwise did not move away, happily maintaining their closeness. "That silly rouse made quite a mess out of the both of us," she said, plucking his glasses off of his face. She laughed quietly. "Look at all this honey."

As she cleaned the honey off of his glasses, he was positive his heart was going to steamroll out of his throat. When she finished, she looked at him curiously and said, "I didn't realize . . . I've hardly ever seen you without your glasses on."

He smiled at her gently, not trusting himself with words, and moved to pull sticky droplets of honey out of her normally fluid, straight hair. "Well, I've hardly seen you without some sort of rubbish in your hair."

"Oh . . . well, you'd find me very agreeable without all that."

The scent of honey was overpowering. But there was something else there, too . . . a fragrance he felt he knew intimately. He finished and let his hand linger a little longer, grazing her ear and lower neck, before letting it sink back to his side.

"Thank you," she said, smiling enigmatically. "Here you go."

She reached up and placed his glasses delicately on his nose as he leaned towards her. Another long moment of maddening tension hung heavily in the air as she softly corrected his glasses.

"You saved me today," she said.

"I guess we're even now," he said.

She smiled peculiarly.

"Not just yet."

She curled her hand away from his glasses and let it drift lightly over his hair. She brought it down beneath his chin and he moved unconsciously wrapping his arms around her waist once again, pulling her closer. She brought his chin down to her mouth and their first kiss was one of tentative softness, gentle exploration. Though he felt a feeling so good could and should last forever, it was over before it had really started.

"Ginny. . ." he said, moving towards her again. She pushed further away from him, smiling that mysterious, gorgeous smile. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

The unwelcome sound of the bell split the air.

Harry wondered why she had pulled away, why she was moving away this very moment. She looked confused, but happy. That was good right?

"Harry," she said slowly, pleadingly. "I can't let you keep me from all my classes." She continued to move away from him.

Harry swallowed hard. He instantly regretted kissing her. But it had felt so right! Was he going to lose her as a friend? Did she need 'space' or whatever it was girls were always talking about? _Girls are absolutely mad._

With a heavy heart, he said "Get to class, Weasley. Not on my clock, remember?" She looked grateful and smiled. He watched her walk away.


	7. Honestly

**Dedication:** To all of those who have waited for this installment and to all of the reviewers, each and every comment a helpful one. Please continue to review. So, with that . . I make the admission that this is NOT the last chapter. And I promise. It won't be a year this time.

Honestly

Harry navigated a path through the lot of students crowding the hallways. As always, they were in a mad rush to get all the gossip they could get in before next course. He felt out of place in the excitement, a recurrent if not wholly familiar feeling. The bewilderment and overall confusion he felt made it all the more difficult to steer through without knocking every other 1st year into a coat of arms. Time had passed faster than he'd realized after he'd left Ginny. It was already time for double Transfiguration with McGonagall. It hardly seemed fair. Could it be possible that he was too late or too slow to process what he felt for Ginny? So much had happened since she'd been Ron's little sister with the embarrassing crush on him. She could've easily gotten over him in the two or three years it had taken them to become friends. He couldn't remember the last time she'd frozen up in his presence.

He didn't know if he could handle the enormous unfairness of the situation if Ginny was over him while he now fancied her. Anger surged as he thought about what it might be like to see her with someone else. Harry pushed open the double doors leading out into the courtyard. His anger fizzled as he considered the fact that she'd never shown _dis_interest. He could be worrying about nothing.

The one thing he knew for certain was that he wanted more from Ginny, more from their friendship. It was a realization he would rather ignore because he knew as a loyal friend to Ron he would _have_ to tell him. He couldn't conceive of anything worse than going behind Ron's back and being found out.

"'lo, Harry," Ron said pushing towards him through an annoyed group of third years in the courtyard. As a blast of icy wind sent his bright red hair into a frenzy, Ron continued to talk while chewing a half-eaten apple. Harry noticed that Ron was looking about as guilty as he felt. "So, did you see Ginny today?"

"Do you mean during the Quidditch practice in the dungeon that no one else knew about?"

Ron diverted his eyes, digging into the apple just in time to speak again. Harry worked to dodge the bits of apple coming his away. "Yeah, that's the one." Ron seemed to feign great interest in one of the stone gargoyles perched over them. "Talk about anything?"

Harry pondered the meaning behind the obvious absurdity of the question. "Like . . did I talk to her at all? Or did we sit in complete, awkward silence?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. Did you talk about what everyone in the school has basically been on about since it was over?"

Harry stared. "What?"

"Did you talk about the BALL, Harry?"

"No," Harry said slowly. "The ball never came up."

Ron heaved a great sigh. "Look, Harry, there's something you ought to know—"

"No, wait. Let me go first," Harry interrupted. Ron didn't look too bothered. Apparently whatever he had to say was something he was willing to put off. Harry suddenly regretted volunteering to go first.

"Well?"

Harry lounged back against a frigid, stone pillar, tugging his collar. "Uh. Well. You know Ginny."

"Yes . . ."

Harry didn't know how their conversation had suddenly become so awkward. Glancing over Ron's shoulder, eager to break eye contact and stall longer, he spotted Hermione. She walked in her characteristically purposeful stride. She faltered before smiling uneasily and breaching the distance between them. This couldn't be good.

"So, how're things?" She said delicately. A question had never before inspired such an uncomfortable exchange of looks between the trio. Hermione bored expectantly into Ron.

"Hrm, I-have-to-go," Ron said into his sleeve, bolting with alarming dexterity. Why couldn't he move like that on a broom?

Hermione followed Ron's successful escape attempt with a scowl.

"What's he running from? Though it's not in any way strange that he may be running from you."

Hermione punched him in the arm. "Oh, shut up, Harry."

If anything, she was clearly tense.

"What?"

Hermione looked painfully at Harry. "It's about Ginny. Ron wanted to tell you. . . he wanted to. . ."

What was she on about?

"Oh, Merlin. He knows about Ginny," Harry said, a feeling very like fear settling in his stomach. "He wants to kill me, he wants to—"

"No, no, Harry, it's not like that. We talked. A LOT." Hermione said. Harry suspected a talk with Ron about Ginny must've been highly draining. "He's ok with it. Really."

Though skeptical, Harry reasoned that she was probably right. He would still have to talk to his best friend himself.

"Wait, how does he know about Ginny?"

"He—"

"Did he know about my dreams?!"

Hermione paused, thoroughly confused. "What?"

"Oh. Nothing."

"The ball, Harry. He knew because of what you said about the ball," she said slowly.

"What is this NONSENSE about the ball?"

Hermione studied him sharply, then changed her approach as if she were talking to a very thick person. "You were dancing with Ginny, Harry."

The red dress. The velvet gloves. Of course. How did he not see that?

Hermione smiled. "Don't worry, she didn't add it up either."

"You've talked to her?"

Hermione's smile faltered again, something Harry was quickly coming to hate.

"Funny that you ask. I just talked to her today, not too long ago, in fact."

When it was evident Hermione was no going to volunteer any more than that, Harry looked away dismally.

"Oh."

"Let's walk," she said, taking him by the arm. "It's cold out here."

As they walked, Harry continued. "I just don't know what to do. I thought things were going really well, and then she's leaving and things don't feel right. . ."

They stopped just outside the courtyard, lingering at the foot of a cobblestone pathway that curved around the grounds.

"It's not the way you think it is, Harry."

"How do I think it is?"

"Ginny likes you. She really does. I just think you two are moving too fast. I mean, one day you're friends, palling around after Quidditch practice, and the next you're—" she paused, unsure whether to go on, "—snogging in the hallway."

He knocked a pile of snowdrifts askew with his shoe.

"I just know it took her a really long time to get over you, something she'd _kill _me for saying. I think she's scared to go back into that. Or ruin your friendship. Oh, and the whole RON issue," she said rolling her eyes. "Not that she cares what her brother thinks, but she knows you're his best mate."

"I was seriously worried he was going to get hold of something _very_ heavy."

She laughed at the mental image before they both settled back into seriousness.

"I'm really not the one you should be talking to about this. She hasn't spelled anything out for me. I'm really just speaking on speculation."

"What should I do?"

"Just do something really nice for her. I know you won't have a problem thinking of something," she said with an affectionate nudge. "Though I'd still stay clear of mistletoe."

"Hey, that wasn't planned. I've found snogging much more enjoyable without tears."

"That's good to hear. There's hope for Ginny after all!"

"Oh, you want to judge? How about we talk about _your_ snogging?"

"Oh, no," Hermione said, her joking nature having quickly dissipated.

"You. Ron. The ball. Anything I need to know?"

"Harry, there is nothing I care to indulge with you right now," she said, suddenly taking off for Transfiguration, an indiscrete getaway.

Harry laughed, catching up with her. "How am I supposed to learn if my mentor doesn't teach me from example?"

"What ever are you getting at, Harry" she said, grudgingly making eye contact.

"Why haven't YOU talked to Ron?"

At first, Harry thought she would predictably change the subject or simply refuse to talk to him, but the burden of her own confusion must've overcome her better judgment. She sighed deeply, compromising the typical façade of indifference or annoyance she maintained when they discussed Ron.

"I guess I just keep thinking he'll talk to me," she said flatly. "I'm very tired of waiting, sick of the mixed signals. I'm not going to initiate when it really seems like he doesn't know what he wants."

"Maybe he just doesn't know how to get it."

"Maybe."

The conversation died as they stepped into McGonagall's classroom, where the ginger-haired friend in question waved weakly at them. Hermione glowered, her memory of his failure to tell Harry first no doubt returning to the forefront of her mind.

"Hey, mate," he said to Harry as he took a seat beside him. "I thought about it, worked things out myself—" Hermione cleared her throat, looking pointedly at him. "Ok, worked it out with a little help from Hermione here, and decided I wouldn't want anyone else with my baby sister."

"Thanks, Ron. But I'm not with her yet."

"I know, I know. Just wanted you to know that if you ever were, it would be fine, everything would be ok." Harry reflected that this was probably more of a personal mantra for Ron than him trying to persuade Harry he approved.

"Well, thanks."

Hermione beamed brightly. "That's excellent, then."

Harry agreed that things could've been much worse, even if only for a little while. He knew Ron was only being overprotective of his sister. He knew Ron thought more of him than anyone else. Luckily for Harry, a burgeoning brilliant plan was already starting to take form. It appeared like another perfectly productive Transfiguration class would be lost to mooning over Ginny.


	8. Lost & Found

**Author's note:** Finally, right? I made minor changes to chapter 7 that were just annoying me.

Harry leapt out of bed, landing with such a forceful thump that Ron shot up from his deep, normally impenetrable sleep.

"GEORGE! NO FIRECRACKERS IN MY ROOM!"

Harry stopped to regard him with curiosity, before jamming his shoes onto his feet and pulling his sweater over the mess that was his head. He took one glance at Neville's standing mirror before roaring down the stairs. Oh, if Aunt Petunia could see him now; shirt untucked, wrinkled pants, the animal's nest safely burrowed somewhere in his disorderly hair. He smiled at the visual as he ripped down the stairs, four at a time.

"Oh, good mourning Harr—?" Hermione said just before he flew through the portrait hole.

"Morning, Hermione!" He didn't have time to ask her what she was doing so early on a Saturday, or really to even listen to her response at all because he had important business to take care of.

He'd woken up a few minutes late (what could he say, his dreams were inviting these days), but he knew the rigorous house elves of Hogwarts would be perfectly on schedule. A number of his classmates scrambled to get out of his way in the hallway as he billowed down yet another flight of steps. His pace slowed as he searched the dregs of his memory for where the hanging pear had been last he was here.

"Ah, there you are," he said, tickling it. It squirmed under his touch before a door handle materialized.

Harry walked into the kitchen, immediately in the midst of the breakfast bustle. He could hardly distinguish one house-elf from another as they swerved at lightning speed to get around each other. They carried pitchers, goblets, silver-lined plates, all of which seemed too heavy for their small frames.

"Dobby?" Harry said meekly, not wanting to somehow disturb the activity.

Instead of an answer, a house-elf placed a slice of French toast in his hand as it whizzed past.

"Excellent!" How did they know French toast was his favorite?

"Harry Potter!" An ecstatic house-elf near the back of the kitchen squealed. Dobby had adorned himself with a variety of oven mitts, topped nicely with a striped hand towel.

"Hey, Dobby! Are you busy?"

"What does Harry Potter need?" he said, quickly becoming overexcited with the prospect of pleasing Harry.

"I need you to make me a picnic basket," he said taking a bite of his French toast. Looking at it, a thought came to him. "Do you know what Ginny Weasley likes?"

"Yes, Harry Potter. Dobby must always be remembering what each student has to better his meals for them!"

"Ok, make me a picnic basket for Ginny Weasley. I'll come by to pick it up later! Thanks, Dobby!"

"No! Thank you, Harry Potter!"

Harry wasn't sure why Dobby would be thankful for _more_ work, but he was still grateful for the favor. Feeling more relaxed with that out of the way, Harry made his way back up to the common room, passing the Great Hall on the way. Though he didn't have any business there, he risked a glance at to see if Ginny was seated at the Gryffindor table. Like a shameless crushing schoolgirl, he watched her speak enthusiastically to her friends. He spared a few moments longer before shooting back to the portrait hole.

He nearly passed a drowsy Neville in his adrenaline-frenzied state. He bounced back in front of him, scaring Neville into a sudden alertness.

"Whoa, what's up Harry?"

"Could you maybe show me a few books about flowers in the library?"

Harry could've slapped him to achieve the same expression currently on Neville's face. After realizing he wasn't kidding, his face lit up with the very excitement Harry had witnessed so many times in Herbology class.

……………………………………………

Harry was exhausted. The ingeniously packed contents of a picnic basket sat next to him on the bed. He was alone in his dorm room. The other boys were out enjoying the marvelously beautiful afternoon, the setting sun casting a tangerine glow through the window pane. He carefully wrapped the fruit of his labors in delicate green tissue paper. He placed it inside the basket, shutting the lid firmly. Relieved, he strolled to the window, letting his attention wander over the students romping in the snow outside. He had counted a variety of different snow men when he heard a sound at the door.

Ginny shut the door softly. Harry had a very mixed reaction at seeing her in his dorm room, the scene of so many fantasies.

"Hey. Seamus said you were up here."

After recovering some of what Harry liked to think was his composure around Ginny, his eyes shot to the picnic basket on his bed. Bullocks. Her amber flecked brown eyes followed his.

"What's that?" she said moving forward, before jerking back slightly at the sound of tearing fabric. She looked down, twisting to pull lightly on the back of her sweater. It appeared to be caught on the edge of a cutting knife, no doubt something one of his roommates had been carelessly left out after cutting potions ingredients. Harry rushed to her side, eager to set her safely away from the blade.

"Oh, what a mess," Ginny said as they struggled to free the cloth from the chaos the material had already worked its way into.

"Always getting into trouble aren't you, Weasley?"

Harry smoothed the tear back down after freeing her. He let his arm wrap around her all too naturally.

"I guess I'm lucky you're always there."

Harry was kissing her before any sensible thought had crossed his mind. He certainly hadn't planned to nor would he have guessed that would be the course of action he'd take in the situation. But it was certainly happening. He worked for the curves of her waist, the yielding touch of her lips on his, the rapturous way her fingers played over the back of his neck to become familiar. And she was responsive. Oh, she was responsive.

She pushed against him, an impassioned, fervent side of her he had never known but couldn't for the life of him figure out why he hadn't discovered it before. When his back knocked against the bed post, he angled them onto the bed. She stood over him, pulling away, breathlessly. Her eyes fluttered, nuzzling her nose against his cheek, irresistible in its softness. Her arms hung over his shoulders. He fought for her to come closer.

As she bowed over him, bringing a sharp clarity to what had previously been a tantalizing dream, there was suddenly a sharp pain in his back. He yelped pulling away briefly.

"What, what is it?"

No, he didn't want to stop. Her head bobbed up, he struggled to bring her into focus, he had lost his glasses somewhere in the madness. She pulled the wooden picnic basket out from behind him, settling onto his lap to inspect it. He moved his hand over hers as her fingers as she effortlessly opened the box.

"Was this for me?"

He nodded. He mocked a sigh. "But you ruined it."

She looked distressed. "Oh, no, I didn't mean to—"

He laughed, turning her to him. "No, don't make that face. It makes me want to kiss you," he said indulging the desire. "Not that everything you do doesn't."

They kissed more, lingering in the new, indescribable sensation. She giggled pulling away from him. Her fingers grazed the green tissue paper. She looked at it quizzically.

"That's also for you."

She tenderly placed it on the bed and unwrapped with great interest. Harry savored her reaction, the slow glow of wonder and astonishment spreading over her face like sunshine. It was a flower, whose petals were as violently red as her hair, it's stem a deep, unforgettable green. The tips of each petal was a deep mahogany.

"It's magic. It'll never fade."

She kissed him this time, but Harry could feel something was different. A few moments later she drove herself away from him, standing. He hated how empty it felt.

"What is it? You don't like it?"

She laughed ironically, her back was to him but Harry watched her put a hand to her face. Was she crying?

"No, Harry. It's perfect."

Worried, he went to her, enveloping her in his arms. He had never seen her cry and wanted it to stop immediately.

"You're perfect," she said. "I want to . . ." she looked at him in a ravenous way that even his most deviant dreams could not have conjured to be as seductive as it was. "I want to be with you, but I have to ask myself—"

"Ask yourself what?"

She pushed away from him again. "I mean, Harry. What about Voldemort? Have you thought about that?"

He didn't like where she was going.

"I know you don't want to hear it, but . . . what kind of future is this? Where would we go? I mean, if I'm with you I'm—" here she stopped. She looked at him, her eyes blinking back tears.

"You're with me, I know."

"That's right. I'm not—I can't be some random girl the papers do a write-up about, 'Harry Potter's New Girl.' You also don't go off on dark, dangerous missions without me."

He was perplexed by this. "But you couldn't go, I won't see any more of my friends die."

"What about you? How could I bear it if you didn't come back? What if—what if Voldemort killed you?"

He couldn't stay away from her when she looked like this. He cupped her cheek in his hand. "Why do we have to talk about this now?"

"It's not going to go away, Harry."

"Neither will this." He kissed her, a voice in the back of his mind chiding him for having made another girl cry during snogging.

"No, it certainly won't."

They held each other's gaze for a long time. "We'll figure it out. Please, I just found you. You can't be leaving already."

She smiled as he pushed a few errant tears away. "What do you say to a picnic?"

"Sounds wonderful."

He didn't know if they would work it out or if they would stay together. He didn't want to think about anything happening to her or the danger he would unwillingly put her in. He really didn't want to think beyond today, or really beyond the afternoon, so he took her hand and plucked the picnic basket up. She gazed fondly at her flower.

"I really do love my present."

"It was the closest I could find to the color of your hair."

They walked out of the dorm room, his arm wrapped around her. He looked forward to several sunlit days.


End file.
